Symphony in the Key of Silence
by BloodiedBowties
Summary: Blaine's story in four parts: his torment, what he'd lost, the slow healing process, and how Kurt Hummel helped him find something he never knew he'd been hiding.
1. First Movement: Sonata

**Author's Notes: **I've never had to deal with writing a story for something that was ongoing like Glee. I've had a hard time figuring out how to keep "canon" because anything can happen where Glee is concerned. I haven't delved too deeply into the Klaine fanfiction yet, so any similarities to previous works are purely coincidental, although I did use "Anderson" for Blaine's last name. This seems to have developed into something generally accepted throughout the genre and if I am wrong, I apologize for the assumption. I've been reading Glee fanfiction for all of about a week, so I am a newbie. Please don't judge me for that.

Any flames will be fed to Puck's ego.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any recognizable characters or places used in this story; they belong to the Glee franchise. I also do not own the musical references used in this story. This includes Bill Wither's _Lean on Me,_ Jonathan Larson's musical _RENT, _and Bob Marley's _Three Little Birds_.

No money is being made from this story.

* * *

**Symphony in the Key of Silence**

**First Movement: Sonata**

Blaine Anderson was a walking, talking, singing, musical encyclopedia. He didn't just know music, he _collected_ it. He collected as much as he could, from all genres of music. If you were to ask him what his style was, he would reply with, "Talent" because there really was no other answer when you liked Lady Gaga as much as the Beatles and Bob Marley just as much as Metallica.

The result of this is that he always knew the right song for every occasion. And he always had a song in his head. The boombox in his mind had no off switch, but he was okay with that because it was the only thing that kept him company during the day.

He was in the show choir at Montpelier Academy, the all-boys boarding school he attended in Massachusetts. Blaine was what they called a "grace note," which was supposed to be an affectionate term for the back-up singers. Instead it just reminded Blaine of his inadequacies. He was there for ornamentation, inferior to those that shone brightly in the choir. His role was simply to stand there and look nice amidst a series of _do-do-do_'s.

He stayed because, despite how small he felt in the middle row of the chorus, he wanted to be a part of something. He wanted it so badly it hurt. So he went to choir practice every evening and ate lunch with the boys who stood to his right and left in the formation. Sometimes they talked. Most of the time they didn't.

He didn't speak to his roommate, who stayed up into the late hours of the night talking on skype while Blaine tried his damnedest to sleep. Blaine would put headphones on to block out the sound, but headphones were never comfortable to sleep in. Blaine would often wake up at the slightest jerk of his head and Jack, the roommate, would still be on skype with his girlfriend.

It really wasn't a good arrangement at all.

Classes were difficult, but the teachers seemed to know who he was because he was ambitious academically and they respected that. Blaine Anderson was also gay. He'd only revealed it to his parents, but he never had to say it to anyone else. They all seemed to know somehow. This made things easier because he never felt like he had to pretend around people. He was proud of who he was and could be himself. The people who mattered wouldn't care that he was gay.

The problem was that the people who didn't care also didn't want to know him and that the people who did care managed to meet up with him every day. The bullying started a month into his freshman year. He had been fresh meat and Russell and company loved every bit of their ability to taunt the younger boy.

He was now a sophomore at Montpelier Academy. Nothing had changed. He still felt alone.

Especially in moments like these, when Russell was pummeling him outside the gymnasium.

* * *

Blaine flexed his fingers before letting his hands softly descend to the piano. He stepped on the pedal beneath the piano and removed his hands, letting the chord ring out within the music room. He closed his eyes and hummed.

He lowered his hands to the piano a second time, playing a tune he knew very well. After the basic intro he quietly began singing: _Sometimes in our lives we all have pain, we all have sorrow…_

"Anderson? Off my piano." Blaine stopped suddenly, allowing the boy who'd just entered access to the instrument. Greg was one of the singers in the chorus and their resident pianist. Blaine smiled at his classmate as the he sat down. Like Blaine, he flexed his fingers before trying out a few exercise pieces. Blaine hovered behind the older boy, watching.

"You are here early, Anderson," Greg said without stopping.

"So are you," Blaine curtly replied.

"I'm always here early. Gotta' warm up. What's your excuse?"

"Oh. I just wanted to play something."

Greg halted, turned to the boy standing behind him. "You play?"

Blaine felt the heat rise on his cheeks. "N-no. Well, not much. Not like you. Only basic stuff."

"Play something, Anderson." Greg removed himself from the piano bench, ushering the younger boy to sit down.

"I just fool around, Greg. I'm really not-"

"Play what you were playing when I walked in." Blaine sighed in submission. He lowered his hands to the piano for the third time that day. The chord was wrong; a finger had slipped. "Relax, bro."

"S-sorry. I didn't mean – I started wrong."

"Blaine. Stop talking and play." Greg placed a supportive hand on Blaine's back, and Blaine had to hold back his wince when Greg hit a fairly recent bruise. Instead, Blaine focused on stopping his hands from shaking. Tentatively, Blaine began again. He hummed with the beginning, and then he began singing again: _…but if we are wise we know that there's always tomorrow. _

Greg sharply withdrew his hand. "Jesus, Blaine!"

"I know I'm not that good. I just like the chords and stuff. You can have the piano back now."

"No, that's not it at all. Forget the piano. Your voice, Blaine. _Why_ haven't you gotten a solo yet?" Blaine shrugged. "Have you even tried out?" Blaine shook his head. "You should."

At that moment, the other members of the chorus started filtering in. Blaine removed himself from the front of the room and stepped up to his spot in the chorus. The lead vocalist entered soon after, and Greg began working with him at the front. It was crunch time, as the Annual Winter concert was in a week.

A few minutes later, their chorus teacher entered and the practice began. Blaine felt Greg's gaze on him the entire time.

It was a blessing and a curse. Blaine was shaken by the fact that, for the first time, someone seemed to show interest in him. He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to proceed, though. He'd complained about being a "grace note," but it _was_ true that he'd never really let anyone hear his voice outside the expectations of a back-up singer.

Blaine watched Kevin, who had all the power and charm of a good lead as he danced around Greg at the piano. Blaine knew little about the Senior besides his status in the show choir, but he was awed by the boy who seemed to have so much talent.

Blaine knew he could never put himself out there like that. He wasn't made to be on a pedestal. He could barely handle Greg looking at him knowingly, let alone the entire student body!

No, he wasn't cut out for solos. Blaine was made to be a grace note and he was comfortable being on the sidelines. He couldn't be judged too harshly if he just stayed where he was.

* * *

It started with a sneeze, three days before the concert. The next day it was the full-blown flu, leaving Kevin incapable of singing his solos at the concert. He'd tried. Oh boy, had he tried to get through the first song. The coughing fit after the first verse was inevitable.

The teacher panicked. The students looked around at each other.

Greg looked at Blaine.

Blaine looked away from Greg. The kid to his left was wearing two different colored socks.

Greg spoke, "Blaine Anderson can do it."

Silence.

Blaine couldn't do it. There was no way – no fucking way – he was going to get up on that stage and sing on his own in front of the student body. Everyone would be there. Parents. Teachers. Students. Russell. Not happening.

He declined respectfully and the solos went to Jason, a Junior who'd been in the choir since his freshman year. Disappointed, Greg caught Blaine's gaze and shook his head. Blaine couldn't look him in the eye, so he looked back down at the guy-to-his-left's mismatched socks.

* * *

He had _O Holy Night_ stuck in his head. It was the song he'd almost managed to sing solo.

"Where you going, faggot?" Blaine stiffened at the unwelcome voice, clenching his fists to his sides. "Got a hot date?" Russell was suddenly in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.

"Math," He muttered.

"I missed that, Anderson. _Where_ are you going?"

"I am going to math class," Blaine reiterated more louder, with only a small tremble in his voice.

"I don't think so."

He was late for math. He'd straightened his sweater, cleaned his face of blood, run his hand through his disheveled hair. Alone in the bathroom, he'd hummed the tune to "Three Little Birds": _Don't worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be alright._

The evidence was on his stomach and back, hidden beneath his clothes. No one would notice.

No one ever did.

* * *

It was Friday, concert day. The Annual Winter Concert always took place on the last Friday of classes, before the week of exams. It was mostly a celebration for students and teachers, though some students performing in the chorus, band, or orchestra managed to get their parents to visit for support.

Blaine's parents were busy with work in New York, so he knew they wouldn't be in the crowd. He hadn't even bothered to ask them to come.

The chorus members were running through their set, Greg leading them on piano. Blaine had had the shittiest week with last crunch assignments, studying for exams, and choir practices. Russell must've been having a hard time too, because he'd been taking his anger out on Blaine more often than usual.

Blaine released all this stress through meaningless syllables. He listened to Jason sing _O Holy Night.

* * *

_

They had a 10 minute break before show time. Blaine quickly made his way to the men's bathroom. He was running behind on his date with the porcelain gods. The toilets were used to his visits. They met up whenever there was a show, so Blaine could empty his stomach of his dinner and his stage fright.

He never made it to the toilet. He dropped down to the floor out in the hallway while his stomach decided to empty itself at the feet of Russell and his cronies. Blaine, though, was too sick to notice on whose perfectly shined shoes he'd just vomited. A second wave of bile rose in Blaine's mouth. He placed his hand over his mouth.

"What the FUCK, Anderson!" Russell grabbed the smaller boy by the front of his shirt, lifting him. Blaine lost his control at the sudden movement. "That's disgusting! You're going to pay for this, you goddamn fag."

Blaine weakly lifted his head, his eyes finally focusing on the dark glare Russell was giving him. He was in deep, deep trouble.

Blaine struggled, wriggling out of Russell's tight grasp. He didn't get very far because the cronies were suddenly on either side of him, pulling his arms behind his back.

And - Oh God - they were pushing him towards the doors. They were outside in the cold of the Massachusetts winter. He shivered. The boys pushed him to his knees.

"We are missing the concert for you, Anderson. That's not quite fair. Don't you think?" Russell said. Blaine was confused. Were they going to let him go?

"N-no," he shivered.

"No I don't think so either." Russell said. "Sing for us."

Wha-? Before Blaine even had the chance to comprehend what was happening, Russell had slammed his fist into Blaine's face. He fell to the gravel, whimpering.

"That's right, Anderson. Keep going. Sing for us."

As he got the life pounded out of him, Blaine remembered a music class he had once taken. His teacher had put on a recording of John's Cages' famous piece, 4'33''. At first, he thought the CD player was broken. It was 4 minutes and 33 seconds of absolute silence.

He'd been wrong. It wasn't a piece of silence. It was a piece of confusion, whisperings, coughs, sneezes, complaints. It was about what the audience did while the 4 minutes and 33 seconds were underway.

Blaine's own 4 minutes and 33 seconds was a composition of moans and whimpers and flesh pounding on flesh. He wondered how anyone could consider that music. Russell seemed to be enjoying it. Blaine screamed out as Russell slammed his foot down on the younger boy's exposed hand.

"Sing for us again, Anderson." Another punch to the gut. Another whimper.

And then – Oh God – Russell's hands were around his throat and – Fuck – he couldn't breathe. The hands squeezed tighter. And Blaine's lungs_ burned_. But the light dusting of snow on the ground was cold, so very cold.

"…It… killing him."

* * *

The hands were gone. He could breathe again, but he couldn't move. He ached and he burned. But the ground was cold. So very, very cold. He could feel _his _blood on the ground, his back sliced by the rough gravel. It was stealing his blood. He wanted it back. He wanted to be warm again. He tried to force it back into his body, but his mangled wrist wasn't letting him.

The gravel stole his blood. The cold stole his heat. Blaine reached out to the boombox in his head to find – nothing. He couldn't find anything. Nothing to sing. Nothing to keep him company as he died. And he realized with a jolt that Ru- _HE_ had stolen his music.

He closed his eyes and cried, curled within himself on the cold ground.

"JESUS!" There were hands on his face. "Blaine, Come on, man. Wake up!"

_Why?_ He faded into oblivion.


	2. Second Movement: Adagio

**A/N:** Only 1 review? Not too good at making me feel welcome, everyone. I know you are out there, so please review. This is the last of what I have written. It might be a week or so before I can get out parts 3 and 4. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Second Movement: Adagio**

Waking was slow, and painful. The bed was uncomfortable, and it was that fact (and that fact alone) that made him realize he was in the hospital. The sound of the heart monitor came later, as well as the distinct smell of antiseptic.

He felt gritty with dried blood and tears. But no, the nurses had cleaned that up. It was the wires snaking up his body that he felt. There was someone touching him, holding his hand. He jerked his hand away harshly, but he could still feel the tingle on his hand. On his face. On the bruises that covered his body.

The damn heart monitor needed to shut up. Now.

"Mr. Anderson, please try to relax now. You're safe."

Right. Never again.

* * *

The second time he woke was a lot quicker, but more painful. He ached everywhere, his back, his torso, his face, his wrist. He clenched, trying to endure the hurt. Someone was holding his hand again. Blaine maneuvered his hand away from the touch before HE came back. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked to his right where his mother was sitting at his bedside.

"Oh, Blainey."

"Mom," he tried to say. But – Oh God – that wasn't his voice. Surely that scratchy whisper wasn't him. He needed water.

"Don't talk, Blaine. You need to rest." She gave him an ice chip to ease his aching throat. He tried again.

"What -?" There was no point finishing. His voice was broken, not because he hadn't been using it, but from abuse. He lifted his good hand to his throat, grazed the skin he knew to be bruised purple.

* * *

He spent his winter holiday healing in New York. Three days after the attack –that was what they were calling it- Blaine had been considered healthy enough to fly. His parents had swooped in, harassed the administration about the safety of their son, and removed him from Massachusetts before he even had a chance to mention finals week.

The first week off wasn't much, as he spent most of it in bed and on pain killers. His mother's streak of maternal affection ended shortly after they got back to the Big Apple, her work taking precedence. Blaine was taken care of by the nanny who'd raised him, the butler, and the cook. They had a full household staff, so there was no reason for his parents to be home while he healed.

The bruises turned yellow. The cuts on his face disappeared. But his heart hadn't stopped aching. He hadn't spoken a word.

* * *

Christmas came and went and then, all too quickly it was time to go back to school. As the days got closer to move-in, Blaine grew fearful. He knew that the nanny had noticed his odd behavior, the edgy way he'd jump at sudden noises, his reluctance to be in a room alone with anyone. He'd stopped eating and was noticeably losing weight.

She found him in the bathroom one night with his head suspended over the toilet. As he released the bile in his mouth, she placed a comforting hand on his back. But Blaine remembered HIM and jerked.

He was sick. He couldn't even accept her help. He'd probably scared her away. But no – she was there when he finished, holding out a wet cloth for him.

* * *

The next day was a Sunday and both his parents were home. They sat him down for a "family meeting." Blaine fidgeted in his chair at their grim looks.

"Please tell us, son. We need to know how this happened," his mother said. Blaine shook his head. He couldn't say the name.

"It's true that the school hasn't been looking out for your welfare. We are very concerned, Blaine. But they also can't do anything unless you say what happened," his father continued.

"I – can't." Blaine replied softly. It was his voice. A little shaky, but still his. His mother looked relieved.

His father smiled at him, but followed it up with a sigh shortly after. "Okay, Blaine. It's going to be fine. So there's this school in Ohio…" He handed him a brochure.

So Blaine ran.

* * *

He numbly walked the halls of Dalton, dressed in his new uniform. He had just been admitted into the school, forced into shaking the hands of all those administrators. The boy beside him ambled on, describing buildings and classrooms, when they were expected for meals, when they were required to wear the uniforms.

"Are you interested in any extracurriculars?" The boy asked.

"No."

The boy shrugged, and led him to his dorm.

* * *

His roommate was named David.

"Hey man. So you're the new guy?" David reached out to shake Blaine's hand.

"Blaine," he said. He looked down at David's hand, numbly held out his own. They briefly shook.

"It's nice to meet you. I hope we'll get along. Wes, my previous roomie, and I got into some trouble last semester so they felt it necessary to separate us. I think it's stupid. New roommate just because of a little prank. Not that I blame you or anything. Oh God. I really am making a hash out of this aren't I?" David paused took a breath, smiled despite Blaine's dazed look. "Sorry. Let me try again."

"It's okay."

"No. I wanted this to go right." He pointed to himself, "I'm David. Tell me about yourself, Blaine."

"Well, I transferred this semester."

"I know that much already. What's your favorite color? What do you think of Dalton? Tell me that kind of stuff."

"Blue. And I'm a little nervous."

"There's no reason to be. You'll be fine. So, what kind of music do you like?"

Blaine shut down and muttered, "Nothing in particular."

* * *

He received an email from Greg that evening:_ You're so talented, Blaine Anderson. Make sure to send me a signed CD when you become famous. –G._

Blaine curled up in his bed, feeling empty and alone. David noticed his roommate's mood and brought him a mug of hot chocolate. He sat down at his desk.

"I hope this helps." David clicked play on his iPod.

A few notes played before Blaine processed what was happening. "Turn it off."

"What?"

"Turn it off. Please, David," he begged. David turned it off.

* * *

Classes were _hard_ here. He had to read a total of 300 pages each night and he had no talent at all for learning a different language, especially since it was French. He already had two essays due within the next three days. He hadn't started either.

In addition, some of his credits didn't transfer, so he had to retake the math he had taken at Montpelier.

Academics sucked. The last thing he wanted to do was write a paper. It was 8:00 in the evening and he was stuck on the third page of his seven page assignment. He hadn't even started his reading, let alone his math work. Blaine felt the pressure built up. There was no way he was going to get everything done. He ran to the bathroom, just as David came in.

"I don't know, Wes. He's just seems so empty all the time. Sometimes he'll just completely shut off. He won't let anyone touch him." Then, quieter, so Blaine had to strain to hear from the bathroom they shared. "I think he was bullied at his old school. No… I'm not sure…. I think." A pause. "Of course that doesn't bother me! What part of 'zero-tolerance harassment policy' don't you get?"

Blaine lost his lunch then.

"Oh shit. Gotta' go, Wes." There came a knock on the door and Blaine weakly looked up as his roommate entered. "God, Blaine. What can I do?" he said.

"Water, please."

"Are you getting sick? Do you want me to get the nurse?" David said as he filled a glass with tap water. Blaine shook his head, explained that he was just stressed.

He also admitted to David that he was gay. "Please don't tell anyone."

* * *

With David's help, he slowly learned how to balance the workload he was given. Wes was in their room more often too, and he recommended that Blaine not take two writing intensive courses in one semester.

He hadn't known that that was what he had done. Wes showed him the asterisk in the courses catalogue which marked classes as writing intensive. "Just take one of these. And make sure to mix everything else up. You'll be fine, new kid." He slapped him on the back. "It's too quiet in here. Where's your iPod, David." Wes said.

From his peripheral vision, Blaine could see David making slashing gestures at his neck. _Don't go there_.

* * *

He ate lunch alone, but joined David and Wes and their friends for dinner on some nights. The others knew he was called Blaine, but they called him "new kid" anyway. Wes and David had known these people for a year and half already, some longer, and Blaine felt like the outsider he knew himself to be.

He swirled his spaghetti and watched the verbal sparring happening between David and the boy across the room.

His ears didn't catch up to the conversation until after the argument was in full swing. "Oh yeah! You sing it then. Sing for us." The boy spread his arms wide, indicating the present company.

_Sing for us._

_ Sing for us. _

_ Sing for us, faggot_.

Blaine stood up quickly, knocking his spaghetti on the floor. He heard the clatter of the plate, and then, "What's up with you, new kid?"

He sprinted out of the dining hall, pushing his legs as fast as he could towards the safety of his room.

* * *

"Do you need anything, Blaine?"

"No, David. I'm fine."

* * *

"Are you okay, Blaine?"

"Of course, David. I'm fine.

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it, Blaine?"

"No, David. I'm fine."

* * *

He sat his desk, typing on his laptop. Blaine's eyes were burning as he read through the fifth page of his paper again. Something didn't seem right. His tone changed somewhere between paragraph one and two. Where was it?

"Blaine?"

"Oh, hey, David." He waved at his roommate, before returning to his paper.

"Is everything okay?" David came up behind him, placing a hand on Blaine's chair.

"Yeah. I'm just trying to get through this paper."

"I hear ya. I haven't even started on Harrison's assignment yet." David sighed, collapsed backward to his bed. He rubbed his temples. Blaine froze.

"David?" He swung his chair around to face his roommate.

"Hm?"

"You always look out for me. But I've never even try to return the favor. You must hate me."

"I don't hate you, Blaine."

"I feel the need to apologize anyway."

"No need."

"Let me try anyway. Is everything okay, David?"

"Everything is fine. Practice is just taking away all my time to do homework this week."

"That's tough. I stopped playing soccer in my old school when I couldn't keep up." _Because the boys didn't like having a fairy on the team. "_What sport do you play?"

"Sport? Oh God, Blaine! I can't believe we hadn't talked about this." He laughed at Blaine's expression of confusion. "I'm not on a sports team, Blaine. I'm a Warbler."


	3. Third Movement: Minuet

**A/N:** This one is a little bit shorter, but I'll make up for it in the last movement when Kurt comes in. I apologize for the uber-cheese; it had to be done. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews/alerts/favorites. Please, let me know what you think. I recognize that I use a lot of non-Glee stuff in this chapter. I'm adding them to the disclaimer in the first chapter. No worries.

Has anyone else had the problem of accidentally typing _Darren _instead of _David_, because you're thinking of Blaine but typing a D-A- name? -S*I

* * *

**Third Movement: Minuet **

**"**Hey, Blaine?"

"Mhmm?" _Sine over cosine is…_

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."… _Tangent._

"What happened to you?" Shocked, Blaine looked up from his trigonometry homework to see David and Wes both examining him speculatively. And for some reason unbeknownst to him, he decided to tell them.

"Did you ever think to go to the administration?" David asked, resting his hand on Wes' shoulder.

"I did. They didn't do anything." At Blaine's words, Wes shook David's hand off his shoulder, sprung upward, and began pacing, his hands clenching into fists and his face turning red with anger. Blaine wavered at Wes' show of blatant rage.

"What happened next, Blaine?" David said, trying to distract him from Wes' mood swing. Having kept his composure before, Blain began shaking. He bit his lip. He told them about the attack.

His eyes glazed. He looked at David, but he wasn't seeing him. He was looking through him. And then HE was there, his fists raised. Blaine's breathing hitched in fear. There was a bang and he flinched, grabbing at his chest. There was snow on the ground. He was cold.

"You moron! You're not helping him like this. CHILL. OUT."

And Blaine remembered he was at Dalton. In his dorm room, on the floor. With Wes and David. David, who was wrestling with Wes on the ground, and Wes, who was struggling underneath, his knuckles bloodied from the hole in the wall above them. And then Blaine was sobbing, all the strength he'd been trying to maintain fleeing from him.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I know I ran - I shouldn't have run- I'm sorry I'm weak -I didn't mean to make you mad. Please don't hit me. I'm sorry."

Wes' arms were suddenly around him. Blaine tensed.

"You idiot. Oh God, Blaine. Don't do this. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad _for _you, Blaine." He realized Wes wasn't going to hit him and relaxed.

David looked around at the open textbooks and loose leaf paper strewn throughout the room. He turned away from it and joined his friends on the floor. Homework wasn't getting done this evening.

* * *

Blaine was shocked to find that he actually felt better after talking to David and Wes. They were proud of him for telling them, and promised that they would keep his past a secret until he was ready. He felt so much lighter, even though he never finished the homework for the class in which he was currently sitting. As soon as the bell rang, Blaine took off from his seat.

"Mr. Anderson? I need to see you after class." _Well, shit._ "How are you adjusting, Blaine?" _Wait, what?_

"Oh. Well. Fine, I suppose."

"You haven't been having any troubles?"

"No."

"Okay then. You've been here how long? Two months?" Blaine nodded. "The faculty here likes to encourage our students to get involved. I've spoken to your other teachers, and we all agree that you've been doing well academically, Blaine. Great, actually. But have you thought about joining any extracurriculars?" Blaine shook his head. "It's a little late for the sports teams, but there are a few options on the table still. Take a look." He handed Blaine a brochure, red ink encircling a few key activities.

"Thank you, sir. I'll take a look."

"If you ever need anything, I'll be here." Blaine nodded, got up to leave. "Oh, and Blaine, make sure you do tonight's homework.

* * *

Wes and David were waiting for him outside the classroom.

"What was that about?" David asked.

"He wanted to see how I was doing. I think he actually wanted to help me."

"As he should," Wes said. "It pisses me off how your old school treated you." He heard the anger in Wes' tone, and Blaine realized that - yeah – it kind of pissed him off too.

* * *

"How many people are going to be there?"

"Well it's a Warblers thing. So all the guys probably."

"I don't know. I don't want to intrude if it's going to be a club thing."

"Blaine. Stop it. I am hosting it this time. It's my decision and I want you there."

"What movie?"

"We don't know yet. We kind of decide on the fly. _Please_ come, Blaine."

"Sure, Wes. I'll go."

* * *

It was the stage recording of _RENT_. Blaine had been under the impression that a bunch of guys would've picked out a more action-packed movie. Where was _Indiana Jones, Gladiator, Die Hard?_ No, they just had to pick a musical!

"The Warblers are very traditional when in uniform, but every once in awhile we have to let loose. That's why we started the movie night," David explained to Blaine.

He tried to join. He really did. But he felt out of place as soon as the first song began. Blaine left the common room where Wes had set up the screen, sunk down along the wall.

"Wes is going to be disappointed you left." It was David, who'd followed him outside.

"You know how I get."

"Yes I do. But I don't know why you are still letting him win."

His stomach heaved. "Oh God. David-"

"Come on. Bathroom. Now." David picked him up by the armpits and led him to the bathroom around the corner. Blaine picked the last stall and fell to his knees in front of the toilet, but it never came.

He already felt better, and David was there smiling, with his hand making circles on Blaine's back.

"Does it still hurt, Blaine? The music?"

He hesitated. "No," he admitted. "But I've been without it so long. I'm just a little scared."

"Come on. We have a musical to return to." When they walked back into the common room, the Warblers were in the midst of singing _Today 4 U. _ There was no order, just all of the boys clapping their hands and singing along. And Wes was wearing Angel's Santa suit.

"David! Dance with me," Wes said, spinning David into the party.

Blaine smiled and took a seat. He simply watched his friends. The next scene was between Mark and Joanne, and Blaine was delighted to see Wes (sans Santa suit) and David take the spotlight for the number. He never knew his friends could tango.

It was during _Will I?_ that things changed. The Warblers had instinctively separated themselves to sing the canon. As the round began, Blaine's heart pounded. He knew the song. He knew the words: _Will I lose my dignity. Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare? _

He was going to do it. He closed his eyes, tried to sing, but the words just wouldn't come out.

Blaine found himself mouthing the words as a tear rolled down his cheek. Wes, glanced over, placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him strength. Blaine tried again.

This time it worked. It was quiet, and shaky, but his voice was there.

Blaine Anderson was _singing_.

* * *

Blaine had always wanted to be a part of something. He'd wanted to be a part of something so much it hurt. And now that he was here at Dalton, now that his music was back, he wanted to be a Warbler. However, he wasn't ready for the audition process. They needed to know he could sing, which meant he needed to sing alone on front of everyone. He'd worry about that later. Right now he needed to find a song.

He'd given Wes and David his iPod to help think of possibilities.

"Damn, Blaine," Wes said.

"What?"

"Do you realize how much music you have on here?" David asked.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure I have a general idea."

"Okay. Well, we don't need anything too complicated. Right now, you just need to prove you can sing and fit in the group. Nothing too theatrical, but something that has heart."

And then Blaine knew, without any sliver of doubt, which song he needed to sing.

* * *

He was nervous. His hands were sweaty. The door was opening… Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

"Blaine, we are ready for you now," David said. He held the door open for Blaine, and then took a seat next to Wes. There were three Seniors on the board, one who was in control of the proceedings.

"Welcome, Blaine," he said. "Whenever you are ready."

Blaine swallowed, looked out at all the faces watching him expectantly. He couldn't do this. But Wes and David were nodding encouragement to him and he didn't want to let them down. He began.

"Some-"

His voice cracked.

"-times…"

He'd squeaked.

Oh God. He was an idiot for thinking he could do this. Blaine lowered his head to avoid the stares. He felt his cheeks go red.

"Trent? If we may?" That was David. The boy came up in front of Blaine, lifted his chin up, smiled.

And then Wes and David were on either side of him, humming the beginning of the song. With a few cues, the other Warblers (with the exception of the executive seniors), joined in.

They were harmonizing for him.

Softly, he started again. This time his voice didn't break. He sang the first stanza softly, insecurely. But then it was time for the chorus. Blaine looked at David. Wes. The Warblers, who were smiling at him from all various places throughout the room. The executive seniors, who nodded to him.

His friends. He belted it: _Lean on me, when you're not strong. And I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on. For it won't be long 'til I'm gonna' need somebody to lean on._

His voice was pure, raw, perfect. From the looks on the seniors' faces, they knew Blaine was in. With that knowledge, they turned to their new member, singing together the next section: _Just call on me, brother, when you need a hand._

Bliss filled him. He smiled at David, his first real smile in a long time, and clapped with his friends to the beat of the song. When the chorus came up again, Blaine sang with renewed vigor. As they harmonized, Wes and David shared a smile. It was the happiest they'd ever seen Blaine. The song ended, and Blaine stood in front of everyone, his breath heaving.

"Welcome the Warblers," Trent said finally. Blaine felt his knees go weak, so he sat down on the floor. He dropped his head into his hands.

And he laughed happily.


	4. Fourth Movement: Allegro

**A/N:** I promised it would be longer! I actually got myself a little stuck because I realized I had to fit two years into one chapter. But this story has always been looking at broad concepts, so I felt like I could get away with it. I also didn't want to rehash what we already knew about Klaine from Glee, so I didn't want to write episodes, but I tried to fit it in as much as I could. I rated this M originally for my potty mouth, also figuring that the violence would bump it up too, though the violence itself is probably at a T rating. I don't write smut, but I wanted to include something physical between our boys. So it's not hardcore M, but I do think I need to keep the M rating. I really hope you enjoyed this story. I wanted to post it before next Tuesday just in case the new episode fucks up my perception of canon. So here is the last part. I really hope you like it. First Glee story complete!

Please review! Last chapter's funny typo was "DArren" instead of "DAvid" because I was thinking about Blaine. This week's funny typo was the continual process of "Lurt-backspacex4-kurt-backspacex4-Kurt"

**

* * *

Fourth Movement: Allegro**

Blaine was convinced that being a Warbler saved him. He looked forward to practices and felt like he had a purpose. Although he was back singing series' of do-do-dos, Blaine felt his voice blend in to the music. He was a part of the team in a way he had never been before.

People would wave to him in the halls, give him high-fives in the dining hall. He was invited to dorm parties across the campus, asked to sing randomly. The teachers took him aside to ask when the Warblers would be performing next, but it was always impromptu so he'd just smile mischievously and not say a word. The first time they'd given an impromptu performance, Blaine was too excited to remember that he was supposed to have stage fright. He was pretty sure the toilet didn't miss him. People _loved_ hearing him sing, and he no longer felt judging eyes on him. His stage fright was gone completely.

Since he'd joined the Warblers midway into the second semester, it seemed the year was over all too quickly. He had to return to New York for the summer. But Blaine returned to Dalton for his Junior year with confidence. Wes and David returned with girlfriends. The girls didn't last long, but the change brought about a new phase in their friendship. The three of them were okay talking about whom they liked. For Wes and David, this meant that they talked about sex all the time. Blaine, however, simply made mentions of the things that turned him on. This included scarves, blue eyes, and Neil Patrick Harris.

He'd never had a relationship in his life, so he didn't have much to offer the conversation. Besides, he was pretty sure it would freak his friends out a little if he were to elaborate on how exactly two gay men had sex.

Unless they were closeted, in which case it would turn them on. Either way, it would be awkward.

He'd gotten straight A's, despite the struggles of the previous semester, which gave him the privilege of living in a single room. He made sure to take Wes's advice and lighten his load a bit for the new year, especially since he needed to fit time in for Warbler practices.

The new council had picked Wes as their Junior Representative, the one person who was guaranteed a spot on the following year's council. Blaine and David encouraged Wes to take the position because it gave him a stronger voice in the council and Wes was full of ideas. Though, at the moment his duties as Junior Representative meant a lot of time sitting and watching the verbal jousts that occurred behind the scenes. He didn't have power yet. But he assured them he would be using his power to the best of his abilities the following year, often said with a mischievous grin the size of Antarctica plastered to his face.

Blaine performed well on tests. He sang. He had friends. He was well-liked by the school. He wasn't bullied. He thought it was the best year of his life.

He was wrong, because the following year he discovered Kurt Hummel. It was also the year that he discovered Blaine Anderson.

* * *

Wes took his executive power very seriously. David and one other senior joined Wes as council members. Blaine had been nominated to fill a council position, but he'd declined for the sake of his school work. He was honored, but just didn't think he could do it.

They were revolutionary. The first thing the council informed the Warblers was that they were going to compete for the first time in the history of the Warbler's foundation. Traditionally, their a cappella group sang specifically for the school, and sometimes for charities and at local events.

"We're good, guys. We're really good. And I think we actually have a shot at this," Wes said. The Warblers let out a cheer, Blaine included. It was exhilarating to think of them performing for a large crowd, winning at sectionals. It _could _happen.

Wes was still speaking, "We want to work on building our repertoire. This will be accomplished through an increased number of impromptu performances, a new song every other week and one request from the audience. This way we can figure out the crowd pleasers. We need a lead singer. Remember, lead singer is a position; it doesn't mean all solos will be going to that person. The lead singer is a guide for all Warblers. Yes, he needs to have the vocal prowess for the position, but he also must want the best for everyone else and be available to help others with their solos. He is a mentor first and foremost. That said, we are taking nominations, so please take the time to vote after the meeting. New member auditions will be held tomorrow, as I'm sure you all remember. By next week we will have our full group! Anything else?"

David looked down at the desk in front of him. "No I think you covered everything. I'll take nominations for lead singer as you exit. Have a good day everyone."

Blaine thought David would be a fantastic lead singer. He wrote down his name on the slip of paper he'd been given.

* * *

"Blaine? What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Nothing, it's a Friday. I have class until 1:00, though."

"Would you be able to come to auditions with us?"

"I suppose I could. Why do you need me?"

David held up the slips of paper. "You were unanimously picked for lead singer."

"Unanimously?" He felt weak in the knees.

"Well. Not quite. Some idiot voted for me," David said, grinning at Blaine just as broadly as the Cheshire Cat.

* * *

Blaine was nervous as hell for his role as lead singer. He'd declined the council offer because of time, so could he handle the duties required with the position? He hadn't even sung a solo in public before, and he'd mentioned this to David.

"We know you can do it," he'd said. "We've heard your voice, Blaine. I don't think you realize just how good you are." David hadn't implied that he could refuse. And it seemed everyone was behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his fellow Warblers. So he accepted the position hesitantly. His first duty was to be present for auditions.

"We don't need you to listen to the auditions," Wes explained. "That's our job. Instead, I want you to mingle in the waiting room with them. Make them feel comfortable. Introduce yourself, get to know them. Meanwhile, we want you to judge how well you'll think they'll fit into the Warblers. It's all about the team. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Here's the sign-up sheet. Keep it organized out there," Wes said. Blaine turned to leave, but Wes hadn't finished. "Oh and Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"Congrats. You deserve this."

"Thanks, Wes."

* * *

"Mikey?"

"He was a really nice guy. I think he'll fit in well. How did he do in the audition?"

"He wasn't the strongest singer. Daniel, though, blew us out of the water."

"Yeah, and he knows it. He was belittling the other applicants the entire time. I wanted to kick him out, but that is, unfortunately, beyond my power."

"That's really unfortunate. We could have used his vocal range. But you're right. We don't need any pretentious assholes on the team. See, I told you you'd be good at this."

"You don't know that, Wes. I haven't soloed yet."

"Soon. Our first impromptu is next week."

* * *

He started getting the hang of things by the third impromptu performance. They'd picked out a few key pieces for him to learn and a few songs for other Warblers who wanted some time in the spotlight. He still didn't seem to have the confidence that their previous leads held, but he was working on it. He truly wanted to do well.

Monday morning he got a text message from David: **Performance today, 2:30. Teenage Dream –let's seduce them, Warblers!** Blaine groaned. "Teenage Dream" was one of his, and they'd only started rehearsing it a week ago.

Five minutes later he got the mass message through DAlerts, the text messaging system that warned them of any emergencies, but the Warblers had permission to send cryptic messages about their performances through the system: **1430. Don't ever look back**. It was never the title of the song, but always something to keep them guessing.

Class ended at 2:15 that day. He rushed to join the people making their way to the Senior Commons. It was like a stampede, and Blaine felt the anticipation building in his gut.

"Excuse me!" Blaine turned, seeing the boy standing on the stairwell. He looked confused. "Uh hi. Can I ask you a question? I'm new here." Like hell, not with that jacket. But Blaine decided to play along.

"My name is Blaine." He extended his hand to the boy, felt the electricity run up his arm as Kurt's soft skin rubbed against his calluses.

"Kurt."

"So what exactly is going on?" Kurt asked, taking his hand away. _I want to touch him again_.

"The Warblers! Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. Tends to shut the school down for awhile."

"So wait; the Glee Club here is kind of cool?"

"The Warblers are like rock stars. Come on, I know a short cut." He grabbed Kurt's hand, leading him away from the stampede and into a separate hall. His heart pounded.

"Oh I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt said as they entered. _Yes. But that's not a bad thing._

"Next time don't forget your jacket, new kid," Blaine said._ Please don't listen to me._ He loved the way Kurt looked in his jacket. _I want to touch him again_. Instead he opted for straightening Kurt's collar with a smile and a wink. "You'll fit right in." The Warblers, seeing Blaine enter, started the beginning of the song. He needed to go. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He began singing, turning first to the Warblers, then to the audience watching. They'd practiced the number with a half casual, half choreographed dance with basic steps. He was supposed to address the general room, but no matter how hard he tried not to, he kept coming back to the boy whose blue eyes shone wide with awe. He was beautiful. _You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream_.

He found out later that his beautiful, blue-eyed boy was just as broken as he had been. For some reason, Blaine felt as if he was getting a second chance.

_Don't run, Kurt._

_

* * *

_

He and Kurt hit it off immediately. He wanted to be there for Kurt, and Kurt seemed to rely on him. It was the first time Blaine felt needed and he liked the feeling. He liked helping someone he cared about.

When Kurt ran to Dalton, Blaine didn't blame him, knowing that Kurt's situation had taken a dangerous turn. At least he'd tried to confront his bullies; it was more than Blaine had ever done. Kurt's decision to transfer was actually the most logical course of action. To be honest, Blaine was excited that he would be seeing the boy more often.

But Kurt still seemed to have a hard time adjusting, especially with the Warblers. No one doubted Kurt's loyalty to the team, but Kurt was having a hard time fitting in with their group dynamic. He would never find his place in Dalton if he couldn't get used to the uniform. Blaine told him so.

* * *

"I'm taking you shopping, Blaine. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm not going to dress you like me."

"Kurt, shopping has never really been my thing."

"I know. I've seen your closet. We're getting you a style tomorrow."

"I have a style."

"Yeah, if you count Dalton uniforms, which I don't."

"I have sweatshirts too."

"Yes, and they have the DALTON logo plastered across the front. Seriously, Blaine. What are you going to wear if you ever go on a date?"

"Uh. My blazer?"

"No. Absolutely not. Oh, don't give me that look. We need to get you out of uniform."

"I've worn a uniform all my life, Kurt."

"I know."

* * *

Wining Sectionals – well _tying _at Sectionals – was the best experience of his life. It had been exhilarating, singing in front of everyone. He felt the eyes on him, and they loved him.

But no. He looked around at his teammates, but couldn't find Kurt. Where was he? Ah – there he was. Talking with New Directions. Kurt hugged Mercedes and caught Blaine watching him. The boy smiled and winked.

Blaine's heart fluttered. It was Kurt that was the best experience of his life.

* * *

"Who are you?"

"You know me, Kurt. Are you okay?"

"Just answer the question."

"Blaine Anderson."

"That's your name. Who are you?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"_Who _are you?"

"A Warbler? A student at Dalton? Kurt, I don't understand what you want from me."

"I know you don't. That's the problem. You don't know who you are, Blaine."

* * *

_Fuck you, Kurt._ Blaine had never been confused like this before. Who was he? At his old school he was that fag kid that got beat up. At Dalton he was…the lead singer of the Warblers. He was slightly more in the spotlight, but Kurt was right. He wasn't an individual.

He saw the kind of outfits Kurt wore when he wasn't required to wear the uniform. They made his blood stir. Kurt was so in control with himself; he knew exactly who he was. Kurt was being stifled at Dalton. _But at least he's safe._ Blaine looked at himself in the mirror, saw the way the Dalton Uniform hugged him, and hated himself.

He would make himself an individual.

* * *

Jeremiah had been an experiment, the first time Blaine had lusted after a boy who wasn't Kurt fucking Hummel, his friend. His _Friend. _He and Jeremiah had gone out for coffees once or twice and Blaine was proud of himself for taking the initiative in his social life for the first time.

And when he messed it up, there was Kurt.

Rachel had also been an experiment. He'd been a little behind on the "questioning himself" phase, but in many ways he had to grow up too quickly, and hadn't had the chance. He'd hurt Kurt. He knew that. But it was Kurt's damn fault in the first place for telling him he didn't know himself. Blaine knew himself. At least he would.

Eventually…

…once he figured out if he was really gay. Because if he wasn't, then his entire life had been for nothing.

So he'd drunkenly kissed the girl, took her out on a date, lost the courage to kiss her again sober, and let her do the honors while he stood in line for a coffee. Yep. 100% gay.

And there was Kurt.

* * *

"I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

They'd been dating for two months when Blaine got the letter.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, leaning against the far wall as if it was keeping him from falling over his own weight. In his right hand, he tightly clenched a plain white envelope. There was bold knock on the door to his room, but Blaine couldn't hear it. _I'm coming in_! But Blaine didn't hear that either.

"Blaine? Look at me, B," David said as he dropped to his knees in front of the boy. Blaine's eyes were blank and unseeing. David was afraid to touch him, knowing from personal experience that it could go poorly. "Someone go get Kurt," he said.

"Kurt's in class right now."

"I don't care, Wes. Just go!" He heard the scuffle of feet as Wes left. "It's gonna' be okay, B." His instinct was to hug Blaine's pain away. He pushed this into the back of his mind, and focused on trying to get through to Blaine, muttering a series of endless comforts.

"Blaine?" Kurt had arrived. David stepped back, allowing Kurt to approach. "Look at me, Blaine." Blaine didn't move. Kurt hesitated, sighed, and then put his hands on the sides of Blaine's face, cupping the pale cheeks. "Look at me, sweetheart," Kurt said softly.

Blaine shuddered away from the hands, the blank eyes replaced with wide fear. It broke Kurt's heart. "Can you leave us now, David?" _I'll call you_, he mouthed. David nodded, left. Blaine's small form continued to shake, the wall's support failing as he started to slide downwards. Kurt pulled him up, keeping him upright with his embrace.

Blaine held out the envelope with a trembling hand. "H-He knows," he breathed.

"Who knows what?" Kurt asked taking the envelope. He glanced at the writing on the front and saw the name at the top of the return address.

"H-He knows where I am. I can't open it."

"Do you want me to do it?"

"Please." Kurt opened the letter, read through it. "It's okay. He's not going to come after you. Do you want me to read it to you?"

Blaine vehemently shook his head. "I can't stand thinking of his words coming out of your mouth." He turned towards the boy who held him and brushed a finger against Kurt's bottom lip. "My heart couldn't handle that. Let me see it."

Kurt nodded, handing the letter to his boyfriend.

_Blaine,_

_i tried to find you at the skool… they said you transferd and woodnt tell me wear you went. I don't blame them. I googled you. Were you aware that your Dalton place links there top students on the main page? I saw your photo + you look great. i know you problydont want to hear from me at all and I don't blame you. But i need to say how sorry I am for what I did. I got 2 yrs but they were the worse 2 yrs of my lif. But I deserved it for how I treeted you and I lernedalot. Im not the same person I was befor +I hate who I was then. i don't exspect you to forgive I needed to say sorry. _

_ Russell Harper_

Blaine placed the letter down when he was done and buried his face in Kurt's chest, wrapping his arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt rubbed his back. It was going to be okay.

"Why don't you go get a shower, love? It'll make you feel better." He thought Kurt might be right; a hot shower to wash away the taint might be just what he needed. "I'll be right here when you get out."

Blaine nodded and left Kurt reading on his bed while he entered the bathroom adjoined to his room. He had his own personal shower – a privilege for his exceptional academic standing. He lathered soap over his body, cleaning himself of the memories, shampooed his hair. He let the hot water pulse over his tense back, loosening the knots that had formed. It did the job, but it wasn't as good as when Kurt gave him massages. Kurt's hands were just made to loosen him up. They were soft, like silk, but firm and strong as they pressed into Blaine's back.

_Oh Fuck._ He needed Kurt. Now. He turned off the shower so Kurt could hear him from the next room and yelled his name. He came running into the bathroom.

"Kurt. Please," Blaine whimpered.

The fear left Kurt's eyes. He knew what Blaine needed. "I'll be right there. Just let me -" He stripped, stepping into the shower. Kurt looked over Blaine's body where sparkling rivulets ran over his skin, downwards. _Beautiful. _"Wow, already? I wonder what you were thinking about," Kurt said.

Blaine kissed him and answered him without the use of words.

* * *

Later that night Blaine held Kurt in his arms, both snuggled under Blaine's covers with their foreheads touching. The older boy kissed his beautiful, blue-eyed boy with elfin features and soft hands.

"Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"I love that you are so in touch with your individuality. You've helped me find the Blaine Anderson within myself. But I am different than you, Kurt. I need to be a part of something. And soon, I'll graduate and I won't have the Warblers. Then who will I be?"

"Why are you saying this?"

"I want you to ask me again; I have an answer this time."

"Okay. Who are you, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine gazed lovingly into Kurt's eyes and said, "Yours."

* * *

**THE END**


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